


Not The Same

by ParckBench



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age: The Calling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParckBench/pseuds/ParckBench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Soo I haven't exactly played Awakening, and I'm only halfway through The Calling.  Any lapses in canon please feel free to let me know :)</p></blockquote>





	Not The Same

Utha was frustrated. 

It was with disturbing frequency these days, after so many years of their acquaintance, that she found The Architect’s enthusiasm for their work was becoming subject entirely to his moods.

He became distracted easily. More than once he had left projects they had been working on together without warning, and inevitably Utha would find him lethargically slumped at his desk, a book on the anatomical properties of plants or some other useless subject she had (probably unwisely) dredged up for him firmly in hand. 

Any attempts to broach the subject with her companion were met with a kind of severely irritating nonchalance; the kind that made Utha’s fists itch, despite their friendship, as The Architect became more inclined to casually dismiss her with an uninterested glance every time this particular concern was brought up. 

This particular morning a new batch of prisoners had been dragged in, and while Utha was eager to continue their experiments, The Architect yet again, was not. He had stared dispassionately down at her as she stood there, signing with sharp, indignant movements that their tests had been going nowhere and they didn't have time for him to mess about again. The Architect’s response had been to nonchalantly shrug (another irritatingly human habit he'd picked up lately,) and stalk off in the direction of the library. Utha had stood there, furiously signing curses at his retreating back and hoping fervently he tripped on his books. 

It was the beginning of yet another useless morning, in what was becoming an increasing string of useless mornings. She tried at being productive on her own, alternating between pointless bits of busy work and pacing restlessly around the cells, all the while vaguely entertaining the idea of barging into the library and slapping some productivity into her companion. 

The day dragged on with steady inevitability, and boredom eventually took the edge off Utha’s annoyance. 

Once that initial frustration had worn off, she started to feel a little bad. The last few months had been difficult on the both of them; lately it had seemed as if so much of their hard work had accomplished nothing at all. 

He must be as frustrated as I am, Utha realised uneasily, standing alone in the damp, stagnant tomb that had become their home. 

Eventually the prisoners began to wake up from their drug induced stupor, their shrill cries for release grating too much on her already frayed nerves, and she retreated to the library to think. She might be feeling slightly better disposed towards him, but that didn’t stop her from casting the most withering look she could muster at her companion as she stormed in and threw herself into the nearest chair. 

When dealing with The Architect, sometimes you had to be about as subtle as a punch in the face. 

Deliberately, she chose a seat facing away from him, and although she could feel his eyes on her, she knew he wouldn’t bother her. Not if he valued a peaceful existence for the next few months. 

Shit day, she thought wearily. 

She caught herself. Was it day? Time had become impossible to measure here. The marking of the passage of minutes and hours, even the seasons, had after a time slowly lost all meaning. Such things didn't touch them here so deep underground. Sometimes The Architect would suggest that she venture to the surface, that the fresh air and moonlight might do her some good. And always Utha would shake her head, a small sad smile cracking her face. The air was perfectly fine down here, she would tell him; but privately, she wasn't sure she could stomach even the moonlight anymore. 

Sometimes she wondered if she had been down here too long. 

Her cat Hafter had settled in her lap, deigning to keep her company while she mused, and she planted a quick kiss on his furry, ginger head. Hafter had been a rescue, something she'd picked up on one of her trips to the surface back when she still had the interest. Thinking back, Utha really couldn’t say why she'd taken him in. He’d been a filthy, patchy looking creature when she’d found him starving by a river, a few bits of gristle holding together a thing vaguely resembling a cat. Perhaps he was a remnant of the old life. A token to prove something inside herself was still human. 

"Utha." The deep, resonate voice sounded almost tentative. While she and The Architect were usually on friendly terms, Utha's temper was legendary. And even after all their time together, the Architect was sometimes still unsure as to what would trigger one of her moods. A scathing retort on hand, Utha turned towards the voice. He was seated in his usual chair in the corner, only partially visible behind an immense pile of books balanced precariously on his rickety, stained desk.

"Utha," he repeated, "the odd gesture. Is it the same as what we do?"

The question caught her off guard. Affection hadn't been something easily learned for The Architect. There was no such thing among his own kind, and in the early days of their acquaintance, it was something Utha had been loathe to dispense. As time wore on however, she had begun to notice the small things. Light touches across her shoulders, fingers briefly brushing together as he handed her books. They were done quickly, furtively, as if he expected to be chastised. If Utha had to judge, she would almost say he was shy. 

She remembered the first time they had kissed. 

He had reached across to hand her one of his treasured books and it had slipped from her fingers, falling to the ground. The Architect had quickly stooped to pick it up, and gripped by some strange compulsion, she had brought one hand to rest lightly on the small of his back. She had been filled then with an unimaginable ache; a singular pressure like a memory buried deep and barely remembered. He had visibly tensed, and when he had slowly risen, their eyes met. 

And that was how a very startled Architect had ended up sprawled ungracefully in his favourite chair with a small dwarven woman in his lap, kissing him senselessly. 

She had thought their embrace rather one sided at the time. The obvious conclusion didn’t present itself until much later; he simply hadn’t known what to do. He had watched her with wide eyes as she gripped his shoulders in a way that had to be painful, kissing, biting, stroking; anything to elicit a response. When the blood pounding in her ears had subsided and everything had come back into focus, she had gifted him with one last bite on his already swollen lower lip. The resulting stare had been wary, a single drop of blood making its way down his chin.

"I don’t understand," he had said.

Utha rose from her chair and dropped Hafter unceremoniously to the ground, ignoring the derisive look it gave her as it slunk away. 

"I suppose...it is similar," she signed, "Not all kisses mean the same thing. Mostly, they mean love."

The Architect quirked his head a little to the side, as he often did, "When we touch our lips together, is that what it means? Love?" He forced the last word out, slowly, testing it. Utha was sure she hadn't heard him say it before. This particular concept wasn’t one that usually had to be explained. 

She grinned, a wolfish gleam in her eye as she made her way over. "You saying you love me?"

The Architect merely frowned in response, obviously pondering the new idea. "When we kiss, how is it different?"

She placed her hand gently on his forearm, stroking the wiry flesh in slow circles. They didn't communicate in words very much anymore. At least, he didn't, and she couldn't. Somehow she got the impression that even if she could speak they wouldn't need to. So different from the early days, where Utha would furiously sign as one completely misunderstood the other. Now so much of what they did was done in silence, so much meaning given through glances and casual touches.

Utha smiled up at that face. So much like a ruined painting. So gentle and curious. 

"Hafter does not speak. Hafter does not know. Hafter is not beautiful.”

The Architect flinched, and Utha caught his hand as it went to his marred face.

“No, Architect,” she stated, running a finger languidly across his lips, “it is definitely not the same."

And that was that. 

Utha grasped the front off his robes, pulling him forward. Their lips clashed awkwardly, and the small woman could feel the warm currents of air as The Architect's breath came in uneven gasps. He didn't seem to know quite where to put his hands. Utha wound her arms about his neck and revelled in the embrace, in the smell of him. She felt as if she could drown, and if she died here that would be ok.   
Time passed, and eventually they parted. But not before Utha managed one last teasing bite, grinning at his look of utter bewilderment, and those gorgeously swollen lips. 

She decided she wasn't quite so angry anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Soo I haven't exactly played Awakening, and I'm only halfway through The Calling. Any lapses in canon please feel free to let me know :)


End file.
